


Sleepless in Grafton Underwood

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, OTP Feels, Opposites Attract, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sneakiness, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: It's the night before Mark & Bridget's wedding day, and sleep is eluding both of them.





	

Bridget was clinging to Mark outside of the restaurant where they just had their rehearsal dinner. She looked sullen, more sullen than any bride to be should look, and she wasn't saying much. Mark had chalked it up to the wine she drank at dinner--her parents told her to relax for the night, that they'd take care of William--so Bridget drank more wine than she was used to, post-baby. As their guests filtered out, tittering their excitement at tomorrow’s nuptials, Bridget doled out polite thank-you’s and tight lipped smiles. Mark looked down at her more than once in concern, but waited until the last of the guests had left to ask, “Bridget, are you alright? What’s going on?”

Bridget’s blue eyes looked up at him, a fire ignited somewhere deep inside of them. It wasn’t a wine-fueled fire, but rather something else. “I don’t want to talk about it...it’s embarrassing,” she said curtly. “Let’s go back in and grab our things. We have to make it to the hotel soon...big day ahead of us.” Bridget turned on her heels and went back into the restaurant, leaving Mark feeling very confused and uncomfortable. He followed her in and found her piling her purse and jacket into her arms, along with his blazer. 

 

“Bridget, can we please talk?”

 

“I told you, it’s embarrassing and stupid and I can’t believe it’s even bothering me. If I talk about it I’ll just get more upset. I’ll get over it.”

 

“It isn’t something I did...is it?”

 

“Not at all, darling,” she said, turning to him. Honestly, Mark was relieved to hear the pet name come out of her mouth, especially in his direction. Her face had softened and her tone had far less of an edge to it than a few seconds ago. She huffed and sat down, still holding all of their things. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m upset about something you did...it’s not that at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m just...I just...I know we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed tonight and should avoid each other until tomorrow for the sake of superstition, but I’m dreading it. I haven’t been alone at night for over a year, and I hate not having you next to me. And I won’t even have William tonight, since he’s with my parents. It just has me all flustered and upset and I’m trying extremely hard to shake feeling this way but I just can’t.”

Mark couldn’t help the sympathetic smile on his face. He knew exactly how she felt--whenever he left for a case in another country, he missed her presence more than he could describe. Mark loved nothing more than the soft curve of her body against his, the way her fingers laced in his as he held her around the waist as he spooned against her back. He loved falling asleep to the smell of her perfume and the way she snored ever-so-slightly once she had fallen asleep. He had never told her that last bit (for fear of inciting a riot), but it was probably one of the hardest things he had to live without for those five years they weren’t together--those soft little snores still put a smile on his face and always managed to put him to sleep.

“Oh, my love,” he said, crossing the space between them. With some effort, Mark squatted down in front of Bridget, grimacing at the fight his knees were putting up. He placed a hand on each of her knees to balance himself and looked up at her. Bridget’s face had melted into a frown as she looked down at him, clearly trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. He gave her knee a gentle squeeze and said, “Being away from you is my least favorite thing in the world, but it's only for one night. I know you'll survive--you've done a bloody amazing job for yourself, being independent and carving your own path. What's one night in the grand scheme of things?”

Bridget gave him a watery smile and nodded. 

 

“Fine. I can survive one night. But...can I have one of your shirts to sleep in?” Mark smiled at her, his heartstrings being involuntarily tugged in her direction. “Of course, my love,” he said. Bridget's smile grew and she stood up. “C’mon, old man. Let's get out of here,” she said, offering a hand to him. Mark gratefully grabbed it and helped himself up from the squatting position he now felt stuck in. He pecked her on the lips and escorted her out the front door. 

 

It was only a few minutes to their hotel from the restaurant--Mark had made them reservations at The Stanwick Hotel, which was in the village next to Grafton Underwood. It was one of the nicer hotels in the area, and he wanted to make it a point to put them up somewhere memorable for the night before their wedding,  _ and _ for the wedding night. He parked their SUV (a new addition since Will’s arrival) in the lot by the courtyard where their rooms resided. The hotel was set up as several rooms with outdoor access, all nestled around a brick courtyard with a fountain in the middle. When they had first pulled up, Bridget couldn’t hide her impressions. “Jeez, Mark...leave it to you to find the poshest place in the whole area. This looks amazing.” 

Once the car was parked, Mark grabbed their bags out of the back and followed Bridget towards their rooms. Bridget’s wedding dress had been delivered to her room earlier that day by Mrs. Jones, and Mark had his suit in a dress bag that was slung over his shoulder. The two of their rooms were across the courtyard from each other, hers with a hand lettered sign that said “Bridal Suite” on the door. Mark would be staying in a regular room for the evening, but was looking forward to spending his wedding night in the suite with Bridget. They silently went to Bridget’s room first where she keyed them in. She took her bag from him and placed a hand on his chest as he attempted to make his way into the room.

“If we’re going to be traditional, you can’t come in. My dress is in here and I don’t want you seeing it,” she said smugly. Mark nodded and said, “For the sake of tradition.” He bent forward and chastely kissed his soon-to-be bride on the lips, holding it for just a smidge longer than he normally would have. “Good night, my bride,” he whispered into her ear. He could feel her smiling against his cheek as she whispered back, “Good night, my husband-to-be.” Mark felt a thrill jolt through his body at this words.  _ Amazing that she’ll be mine in less than 24 hours. No more worry, no more second-guessing, no more pain. _ Mark kissed her once more before turning around to head to his own room.

Mark hadn’t been in his room more than 20 minutes when he heard a knock on the door. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost 10:00. Peeking through the peephole on the door, he was surprised to see Bridget standing on the other side of the door. Mark unlatched the door and opened it. “Bridget, what’s wrong?” he asked with concerned urgency. Bridget smiled sheepishly at him and said, “Your shirt.” Mark felt the tension in his chest release and he smiled. “Of course. Come in...let me see what I have.” Bridget crept over the threshold and quietly shut the door behind her as Mark retreated to the bed where his luggage still lay, half-unpacked. 

He thumbed his way through the piles of clothes he had neatly folded into his suitcase until he came across a well-worn sleep shirt. It had seen years of use, the navy color faded and a small hole marring the sleeve. He held in his hands and smiled.  _ This one will do just fine _ , he thought to himself. “How’s this?” he asked, turning around to hold it up for Bridget. He saw her crack into a smile. “Your favorite sleep shirt? Are you sure?” she asked. Mark nodded as he held it forward to her. “Of course I’m sure. It’s not like I won’t see it again,” he joked. Bridget took it from his hands and buried her nose into it. “Mmm, yes. This is perfect. The level of Mark-ness is through the roof,” she said, her voice muffled in the soft cotton.

Mark crossed the floor of his room to pull Bridget into his arms. He felt her relax into his embrace, rolling her head to one side so that she could lay comfortably against his chest. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips pressed against the top of her head. Mark could smell the faint traces of her perfume, and even through the fabric of their clothes, he could feel the slow, rhythmic beat of her heart.  _ Hmm, maybe I should let her stay the night _ , he thought to himself, getting lost in the comfort of her body against his. 

He was about to offer her his bed for the evening, the words literally on the tip of his tongue, when Bridget pushed away from him and said, “Well, best be getting back to my room. Big day ahead of us tomorrow. I can’t thank you enough for the shirt...it already has me feeling better.” She leaned up towards him on her tiptoes to give him a lightning quick kiss. The next thing Mark knew, she was smiling at him over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.  _ Bloody hell,  _ he thought to himself, running a hand through his hair.  _ Leave it to Bridget to leave me gobsmacked. _ Shaking his head, Mark turned around to finish unpacking and to turn in for the night. 

 

With his sleep shirt in Bridget’s possession for the night, Mark settled on sleeping in an undershirt and boxer shorts. He read a few chapters of a novel he had started (Bridget  _ insisted _ that he leave all work at home), checked his phone last time for any new emails, and grabbed a glass of water before laying his glasses on the nightstand next to his bed and climbing in under the down comforter.  _ I wonder how Bridget’s faring,  _ he thought to himself. 

Mark tossed and turned a little, trying to get comfortable under the covers. He was used to sleeping in hotel rooms, but it was usually easier than this to fall asleep. The lack of Bridget’s presence, for whatever reason, was a yawning hole tonight. The sheets were too cold, his arms couldn’t get comfortable, it was too quiet.  _ This is ridiculous _ , he thought with a huff.  _ I’m going to spend the whole night before my wedding staring at the ceiling and kicking myself for talking Bridget out of staying the night. Bang up job, Darcy. _

He lay in bed for what seemed like an eternity. No matter what position he threw his body into, he couldn’t find comfort in the hotel bed. Finally, he leaned over to the nightstand where his watch was--it was nearing midnight. “Right. Enough,” he said aloud. Mark swung his feet over the side of the queen-sized bed and stood up. “This is ridiculous.” He pulled on his blazer from the rehearsal dinner over his undershirt and slid into the loafers he had worn earlier. Double checking that his key was in his pocket, he crossed the room and opened the door.  _ Bridget is sleeping here whether she likes it or not,  _ he thought decidedly.

Ironically, Bridget  _ wasn’t _ in her room. She was standing outside of his door, fist evidently making its way to knock on his door. “Mark!” she breathily exclaimed. “Bridget!” he said overtop of her. “What in the world are you doing?” he asked. Bridget’s outfit was just as ridiculous as his--she was clad in his sleep shirt, but apparently no pants, and she had on a cream-colored cardigan that Mark immediately recognized as the one she wore constantly when Will was an infant. Of course, she was barefoot. Her hair fell around her shoulders in lustrous waves, and she had on her glasses. 

“I...I couldn’t sleep,” she said sheepishly. “Why are you up? And what in the world are you wearing?” she continued, gesturing towards him with her head. “Well, funny thing…I couldn’t sleep either,” Mark said, rubbing his hand along his chin. He looked down at his outfit and said, “Couldn’t really give you a straight answer on my outfit, to be honest.” Bridget laughed, pulling the cardigan around her. 

 

“We’re a mess,” she said. “This was dumb, though. We’re both adults. I think we can make it one night without each other.”

 

“You’re right. It’s just a night. And we don’t want to jinx anything.” 

 

“True, very true. OK. Well. I’m going to head back to my room. Pretend this never happened, OK?”

 

“Consider it done.”

 

They smiled at each other and Bridget blew a kiss towards Mark. Mark felt a blush creep up under his collar as he shut the door, allowing himself to catch one last glimpse of her knickered arse cheek as she retreated back to her room. He couldn’t help sighing with amusement as he latched the door behind him. Shedding the blazer and loafers, Mark crawled back into bed and willed himself to sleep. 

Sleep eventually came, but it was a restless, hazy sleep that didn’t really feel like sleep at all. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out for when something stirred him from the fitful slumber that he had slid into. It sounded like knocking, but it wasn’t loud...it was more of a tapping. Mark reached for his glasses and put them on to check the time--12:45.  _ Who in bloody hell is at my door at this hour? _ he thought angrily to himself as he stood up.  _ Must be some drunk patron, mistaking my room for theirs.  _ He padded across the room, listening to the snaps and pops of his joints as they started moving. Not even bothering to ask who was on the other side, Mark flung the door open with a gruff, “There better be a bloody good expla-” 

He didn’t have time to finish.

Bridget was standing outside of his door again, this time looking far less sheepish and far more determined. She was still wearing the same outfit she had been in when she came to his room less than an hour ago, and she was babbling at a rapid pace.

“Bugger tradition and jinxing and all of that nonsense. I want to be with you tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer. And if you  _ do _ say no, I need the keys for the car because I’m going straight to my parents to be with Will. I refuse be miserable all night because I can’t handle being alone, and you know I even hate admitting that, but it’s the bloody truth. So those are your two options, Mark Darcy--either let me in, or give me the keys.”

Bridget stuck her hand out, palm up, expectantly waiting for Mark’s response. Mark shook his head at first, unable to find the right words. “Bridget,” he started, “what in the world are you talking about?” He was still blearily blinking the sleep from his head, trying to process all of Bridget’s demands while carefully trying to choose the correct response. 

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. I haven’t even gotten close to sleeping and it’s almost 1:00. So are you going to let me in or am I going to my parents?” Mark stepped aside, raising an arm to usher her into his room. “Thank you,” she said begrudgingly as she stepped by him. Mark closed the door behind her, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. She turned to him, pulling the cardigan tightly around her as her shoulders rose towards her ears. “Are you sure you really want this?” Mark asked, looking at her closely. Bridget nodded. “Even if we risk breaking tradition? Superstition and all that?” he continued as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Bridget’s eyes flashed as she said, “No offense, Mark, but clearly keeping tradition didn’t work out great for you the last two times.” Mark laughed--he couldn’t help himself--and he said, “You have a point.” Bridget’s shoulders relaxed and she crinkled her nose. “So it’s OK if I stay here?” she said. Mark nodded. Relief flooded Bridget’s face as she shed her cardigan.

 

“I knew you’d say yes.”

 

“Bridget, where are your pants?”

 

“I didn’t put any on, obviously. You know I hate sleeping in pants...clothes, for that matter. But I wasn’t going to run around the hotel grounds stark naked. Those days are behind me, Mark Darcy. I’m to be a wife  _ very _ soon.”

Mark grinned and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re an absolute mess,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Mmm, very true, but I’m  _ your _ mess,” she replied, placing her palms against his chest. “Thank goodness for that,” he murmured. “Let’s get into bed. We have a big day ahead of us.” Bridget nodded against Mark’s chest. 

They both climbed into the queen bed, Mark in his boxers and undershirt and Bridget in her knickers and Mark’s sleep shirt. With Bridget now beside him, Mark felt all of the stress and tension from earlier melt away.  _ This is exactly where she should’ve been from the start,  _ he thought contentedly. He spooned up against her, leaving barely any space between their two bodies. His hand slid underneath the shirt she stole from him, his thumb absentmindedly playing with the elastic of her underwear. “Nice try,” he heard her sleepily murmur. “Breaking one tradition is bad enough--you’re not getting any of these goods until tomorrow night.” 

Discreetly, Mark pulled his thumb away from her knickers with a smile and laid his hand flat against her stomach. He buried his nose into her hair, placing gentle kisses along the crown of her head and along the curve of her ear. “I love you, Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered. “I love you more,” Bridget replied, putting her hand over his and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

 

It was only a matter of minutes before those sweet, soft snores that Mark had grown so fond of started to sneak out of Bridget.  _ Much, much better _ , Mark thought, before slipping into unconsciousness.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for HappyFeet! _If you ever get round to it and like the idea, could you maybe write something about Bridget getting pre-wedding nerves and sneaking into Mark's hotel room the night before and him being worried at first about breaking the tradition of not seeing each other, then comforting her?_ Also, The Stanwick Hotel is a real place and [looks super swanky](http://www.thestanwickhotel.co.uk).


End file.
